


The Entity of Chaos

by ATTROPA



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Eventual Romance, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATTROPA/pseuds/ATTROPA
Summary: “If I spoke about it, what would I tell you? Would I tell you about the time it happened a long time ago, it seems. And the last days of an unfair ruler’s reign. What would I tell you about the place, a small city near the coast. Afar from everything else. Or I don’t know, would I tell you about her? The mare with the courage to move mountains. Or perhaps I would just warn you about the truth of these facts. The tale of love and loss. And the monster… who tried to destroy it all.”The Anomaly Research Institute of Equestria has stayed in the shadows of elusiveness for years, capturing and imprisoning the most frightening magical beings of this world in the name of research. Hidden away underground, an aphasic cleaning mare accidentally unveils a dark conspiracy, and finds herself in the midst of a crisis between a hostile regime and the mysterious magical creature held captive in the middle of it all.Inspired by The Shape of Water





	1. The Mare

**Author's Note:**

>   
_“Of such great powers or beings there may be conceivably a survival… a survival of a hugely remote period when consciousness was manifested, perhaps, in shapes and forms long since withdrawn before the tide of advancing humanity… forms of which poetry and legend alone have caught a flying memory and called them gods, monsters, mythical beings of all sorts of kinds…” _  
  
\- Algernon Blackwood  
  


Heavy thunder roars in the air of the evening’s brewing storm. The disarray of ghastly dark clouds looming above crackle with electricity, feverishly erupting into heavy rumbling. The thunderous rolls that disturb the walls with tremors warrants a fright for one, but the other wanderers in the vicinity were easy to ignore the calamity outside. Unbothered, they carry on with their business from inside the multitude of sub levels inside the Anomaly Research Institute of Equestria — otherwise known as the most secure facility to exist on the sanction of the coast of the Celestial Sea.

It wasn't out of the ordinary to get heavy thunderstorms around this time of year, but for the rosy-maned mare who worked the dreaded graveyard shifts during the peak of the aforementioned nasty weather, she finds herself feeling stuck inside a commonplace state of fear. The days like these were the hardest to endure and were usually always spent underneath the confines of her warm blankets, surrounded by the presence of her animals. But with comfort and safety a long ways out of reach, the storm brewing above only worsens her anxieties.

She doesn't know how to handle the daunting nights like these on her own — surrounded by strangers and armored guards that never spare her even the slightest sliver of acknowledgement. Oftentimes, with her terrible fear of confrontation, it was a position she coined as a blessing in disguise. She reveled in the isolation. But some rare times, when she yearns for the comfort of a familiar face to help ease her fears, it’s a luxury she rarely gets. It's a frightening reality; one that leaves her feeling asphyxiated by anxious tendencies, that even the dirty gray cleaning apron tied around her middle feels just as suffocating. 

She's sure it's just the uncomfortably heavy and itchy fabric making her feel that way. It wasn't the most luxurious, but then again, neither was the work.

She was only the help, after all.

**“Dr. McWhinny — Dr. Rosenberg — Please Report To Sector Thirteen. Test Labs.”**

**“Attention — Emergency Clean up Team to Sector Thirteen. Anomaly Containment.”**

The sound of hooves clamoring through the halls forces Fluttershy's attention back to the present, her eyes following the fleeting figures in lab coats hastily rushing past after the sudden announcement over the intercom system.

In their fleeting approach, she recognizes a few of their faces, often crossing paths with them from the main hall, but something in their eyes pronounces distress; their faces downtrodden and seemingly troubled. Initially, she presumes they’d succumbed to the usual late night exhaustion, but there was something else in their eyes.

Something dire.

“Hey! _You!”_

A scientist comes to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway and Fluttershy’s heart nearly stops, immediately overcome with dread at the unexpected confrontation.

“You’re part of the cleanup crew, dummy! Didn’t you hear the announcement?” The scientist insistently yells at her, still breathless from his run. “Go!”

“I—“

_“Now!”_ The stallion immediately cuts her off with a harsh glance in her direction, his intense emerald eyes sharp, driven by a sense of urgency. Though before he runs off to answer the call, he seizes something from the pocket of his lab coat with the magic manifesting from his horn. Urgently, he shoves the small plastic object into Fluttershy’s possession, the fizzling green glow fading as she fumbles to grasp what looks to be an ID card close to her chest, shock etched into her features.

“You know what to do with it, _now go!”_ The stallion presses, his eyes narrowing with a glimmer of intimidation before finally turning away and taking off down the hall. 

The strange and sudden encounter left Fluttershy shaken, struggling to contend her frazzled nerves. With the card still clutched tightly to her chest, she curiously lowers it down from her front to get a better view. 

But upon looking, her eyes immediately widen.

The words **LAB SECURIGRID** written boldly atop the translucent key card immediately catches her attention, but the words in red underneath just about made her heart drop.

**LEVEL 10 SECURITY ACCESS - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**  


This had to be wrong. These key cards didn’t belong in the hooves of just any pony — especially not the help. Only qualified scientists and highly trained personnel were granted these key cards to the vaults in Sector 13, and with good reason.

Fluttershy was only ever the help on the surface levels, mostly — given limited security access to mop down the control rooms, maintain the bathrooms, and scrape gunk off of the floors in the hallways. And despite only stepping hoof in Sector 13 just once, several weeks ago, it was only on an emergency basis to clean the labs where specimens were taken to be cataloged, and even then she had been escorted, not allowed to wander beyond her clean up point. She had been the only one staffed in the nearest sector that day. 

Besides that day, she _never_ went into Sector 13’s containment. But that’s precisely what the key card in her possession is for.

Fluttershy could hardly move, petrified of the fact that she's holding the metaphorical and _literal _key to the entire facility in her hoof — harboring unlimited access to the most dangerous, highest security research vaults. Where rumored ancient, mythological creatures were locked away, hidden from the public eye. Where the vow of silence was truly enforced, or else met with lethal punishment. 

It was like the prison of Tartarus, but worse.

The scientists down in that sector called it ‘The Trench’. That particular sector was cut off from the rest of the facility for good reason — to contain and research the most powerful anomalous beings of Equestria that tore through to this realm by means of incomprehensibly powerful manipulation of magic. The scientists in the trench are the ones who veil their existence to avoid mass panic and prevent attacks on the otherwise peaceful land of Equestria. But they didn’t just lock them up for safety — no.

For them, It was the perfect opportunity to study them. 

Fluttershy recalls the time — albeit brief — where she had been summoned to clean up a mess in one of the labs in Sector 13, the present team of scientists at the time completely disregarding her presence as they conversed with one another. Though after a while, she found herself unable to refrain from eavesdropping on their meeting.

There had been word spreading that a new “asset” would arrive that day, and the scientists were occupied with pre-processing and preparing to catalog it into the facility. The mare could hear several voices muttering among themselves in speculation, reading off their lab notes and exchanging idle speculation. But she kept her eyes low and her head down. Never once looking up from scrubbing the stubborn fluid spill out from the floors. 

Eventually, all the scientists had dispersed once they received word the asset had arrived, all scattering into the hall to enter the processing room just next door. Fluttershy heard the squeak of metal wheels as they carted their new asset in, the scientists expressing their interest in hushed whispers of awe. She heard a rustling of chains, ponies shuffling around, the low hum of magic in the air. There was the sound of something depressurizing, metal clattering to the ground. The scientists started saying something incomprehensible to each other, shouting orders. Afterwards, she heard an odd struggle that sounded like something was being wrestled with in the next room over. 

And then suddenly, her heart dropped at the sound she heard.

A strained scream. They had inflicted pain — real, heart-wrenching _pain_ upon what she assumed to be a creature, but carried on conversing as if they had done nothing wrong at all. The creature howled loudly, the sound of chains violently rattling as it thrashed. She heard the familiar sound of sharp nails scrambling against metal and concrete, frantic and desperate. The sound of fizzling electricity hissed loudly through the air, and with it, the creature wailed relentlessly.

And it didn’t stop.

Her mouth had fallen open as she gasped at the noise, horrified by what she heard. Tears of guilt and hurt had stung her eyes as she carried on with the illusion of cleaning the floors without any real care. She sat hunched over on the ground with the dirty scrub brush, her face out of sight behind the thick locks of hair that fell out from her up-do.

She couldn’t see the face of the creature from the other room, but when it cried out, throat raw though sounding muffled by something that forced its mouth shut, she couldn’t find it in herself to push down the urge to turn a cold shoulder.

Swallowing her hesitance, she abandoned her spot on the floor, sneaking out into the halls to inch her way towards the slightly ajar door to the processing room and cautiously dip her head around the corner to peek inside.

When she did, however, her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide.

She could see the outline of a creature’s lengthy tail violently lash out through the air, casting shadows against the concrete walls. Two scientists fought to restrain the creature, struggling to force a metal collar around its elongated neck and limbs. It was bound to the ground with chains drilled deep into a metal slab and contained within a magical force field four stallions in white coats were upholding against the creature.

Red eyes glowed intense from inside the low light chamber where it was tightly contained in. But then suddenly, it stopped thrashing. It froze. The creature looked her way — _saw_ her presence — and the mare’s stomach dropped as if she were about to be sick.

Fluttershy hastily shoved herself away from the door and scattered back to her cleaning caddy, terrified. The scientists hadn’t known she was there. She wasn’t _supposed_ to see that.

Not knowing what else to do, she hastily gathered her cleaning supplies back inside the caddy and fled the lab, hardly able to get air through her lungs as she hurriedly left the sector behind.

After that, she hoped to never have to step hoof in Sector 13 again. 

But now, she had no choice.

The deep rumbling that resounds from above the underground construes a nightmarish illusion — the hall lights flickering at every hard strike of thunder from above. The walls surrounding her drenched in a ghastly dull sea-green light that emit from the low light fixtures above. Hardly the most pleasant shade of color. The echo and groan of the creaking corridors in the distance _and_ the lack of personnel was a little more than unnerving.

The wheeling housekeeping cart is the mare’s only source of solace during her meek travel through the excessively long murky corridors, the stench of cleaning supplies a familiar scent among all the other unwelcome unfamiliarity. She was intent on sticking close to the cleaning cart for shielding purposes, but wouldn't be of much use for any longer considering the area that needed maintenance was right up ahead.

Swallowing her fears with a gulp, she stares at the translucent key card on the yellow caddy with mild apprehension before seizing it between her teeth and turning to the vault. 

But as she goes to swipe the key card on the scanner, there’s nothing there.

The access device had been mangled beyond recognition — nothing but a bundle of ripped wires hanging from the wall where the card reader _used_ to be.

Then, the announcement system rings out, fizzling and distorted.

**“W—RNING. UNAU—ORIZED BIOLOGICAL FORM DETEC—D IN S—CTOR 13.”**  


Panic fills her chest like a dead weight, trembling as she nervously begins to retreat backwards. The facility emits an eerie, unsettling groan, distant klaxons echoing from within the unlit corridor behind the massive vault door, bathing it in a dull red light.

Fluttershy’s throat clamps up as she trembles under the weight of her fear. The key card falls from her mouth, clattering to the floor. Something stops her from moving away. A mind-numbing fear seizes her muscles and locks her in place. 

In a sudden rush of wind, smoke-like black tendrils seize and envelope her shaking limbs like powerful ropes, wafting over her front until it has her clutched tight in a smothering grip to the point it forces a winded gasp out of her. Tears sting at her wide eyes, darting about the corridor in horror. No sound is able to escape her throat, her plea for help gone unheard.

That’s when the distal whispers start. Mumbling incoherent words, babbling crazily. It was muffled, distant, but just audible enough to hear. 

Fluttershy hardly even manages to get a whimper out, deathly petrified as she tries to forcefully shove herself away by the heel of her hooves, trying to writhe herself out from the dark that clung to her like a painful vice. But she suddenly slips on something thick and wet pooling across the cold floor underneath her.

She glances down to see a cesspool of black, viscous tar-like fluid pooling across the floor.

Then, the whispers that started as a distant echo grew into a thunderous roar, and the first tangible thought that rises from the depths of the shadows made her blood run cold.

A great monolithic voice screams terror inside her subconscious:

**Ḩ̸̛̗̮̲̼͚͎̱̦̝̝̇́̈́͊͊̒̀̏̔ ̷͕̘̗̲͋̓͑Ḛ̵̢̳͂͆̓͊͒͗́̕̕̕͠͝ ̷̨͓̳͍̓̈́͆̈́̈̾̄͑̏̉L̵͈͚̬͔̊̌̚ ̶̠̼̹͙̯̼̖̠̼͔͔͎̬͊̋̇̍̿P̵̼͖͍̱̩͕̗̭͓̓͌̂̂̈͊͂̍͘̕̚͝ ̶͍͆̽̽͋̀̐̒̌͗̉͒͑̇̊M̵̧̭̥̹͖͎̻̘̩̼͉͉̰̬̤̐̈̒̄̾̆̏͝ͅ ̸̜̱͔̪̠̜͛Ḙ̵̢̧̛͍̤̻̫͍͇̰̫̹̠̎́͗͗́̓͑̈́̓̽**  


**——**

A sharp gasp tears through Fluttershy’s throat as she shoots up from bed with taut wings, a cold sweat matting her to the fabrics that clung uncomfortably to her slightly trembling form.

_It was the nightmare again._

Struggling to catch her breath from the panic that left her reeling, she clutches at the blankets around her for a sense of familiarity, her gaze following the faint trails of moonlight that seeped through the blinds of her second-story apartment windows. It was still nighttime.

That stomach-churning fear in the pit of her stomach lingered and only threads of her subconscious held onto the details of the nightmare. The quietude of her apartment only gives her a false sense of security. This was the fifth nightmare in a row, now. She knows they’re only getting worse. 

She wearily glances aside at the clock hanging on the wall, weary and disorientated.

4 AM. She would have to leave to work soon.

Letting out a tensive sigh, she plops back down on the mattress and eases her wings, flexing them restlessly. Her eyes remain glued to the ceiling in absent thought, unable to break away from the unsettling details of her nightmare. It was always the same. The announcements over the system. The same scientist. The same ending. Then she wakes up in a cold sweat.

The first time it happened, she couldn’t sleep for days after. That voice haunted her subconscious, even manifesting as visions in her waking life.

When she went to work the very next day after the first occurrence, she found herself frozen in fear at the entrance of Sector 13. It was like a beckoning call to the unknown, some unspoken force trying to convince her to cross, but instinctual fear always seemed to override the urge to enter. And In the days that followed, she tried to avoid walking near the sector all together. But it was difficult when she was assigned the nearby sector to keep the labs clean for the scientists. Staying away didn’t stop the nightmares. Neither did _not_ sleeping.

But tonight, something was different. The voice had seemed to grow louder, more intense. 

More… scared.

It terrified her. And the worst part was not knowing _why _ this was happening. It was teetering on the edge of unbearable, and not something she could easily bring up to her friends unless she wanted them thinking she was being childish, or actually losing her mind. She couldn’t tell them the truth about why she looked so tired all the time, or why she was suddenly afraid of closing her eyes at night.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Fluttershy rubs her hooves over her eyes and rolls over in bed to sit up and glance outside the foggy window. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep now, so she figures she may as well get the morning started a bit early. Anything to try to purge the lingering memory out of her mind.

It’s a thoughtless, effortless task to fall into the normal routine of putting out morning feed for her pets and cleaning their water bowls. It doesn't take much to coax the deep sleepers from slumber with the sound and smell of fresh breakfast awaiting them in the kitchen. Soon, they rise with big yawns and go straight to eat in their designated spots, famished from a long night's rest. 

Fluttershy is able to muster a small smile at the sight, looking out across her living room to the variety of animals preening themselves post-breakfast and being playful with one another. From cat, to squirrel, to bird, to rabbit. The sound of the animals munching on their breakfast meals and their soft chattering to each other in conversation brought her a familiar ease and for just a second, made her forget about her worries.

After their needs were tended to, Fluttershy moves on autopilot — tending to her own morning routine of preparing a bath, putting breakfast on the cooker, and setting the timer. Hardly putting any meaning into interactions as she normally would. She tries to use her calm and collected voice with her animals despite still having the slight jitters in her voice from a restless night, but it just doesn’t work for a terrible liar like herself. They seem to know that, too, as they appear to saunter with sympathy towards her when they express their good mornings to her.

Of course, she notices their unease for her well-being too. It bothers her even more than the nightmares.

She reassures them gently, giving them the same _“I’m okay little ones, I promise.”_ and brushing it off as nothing. Every morning, a ceaseless reassurance. She knows they don’t fully believe her, but some word of promised relief, even if untrue, was better than the emptiness of nothing.

When her warm bath is drawn and she washes away the remnants of a cold sweat in the soothing waters, it’s not much later when the timer goes off. Pulling the drain plug on her way out, she throws on a warm robe and hastily wraps her mane in a fluffed towel before sprinting to the kitchen to turn the flames of the cooker off. The moment she’s finished with breakfast and preparing a bagged lunch for work, along with setting aside an additional plate of food she routinely makes for her neighbor, she finds herself moving towards the calendar hung on her kitchen wall, and gently tears off the first paper from its hooks to the current date.

Monday, September 17th. Start of a new week. 

The time is 4:52 AM, and Fluttershy stares at the hands on the clock, dreading that she has to leave soon to catch the trolley on time for her early morning shift.

She could feel eyes on her as she packs up her saddle bag and hangs up her robe and towel in silence, all of her animal inhabitants sensitive to sensing when she’s feeling off-ish. She tries not to let it rub off on them — not when it’s her problem and not theirs. But it’s hard to stop it from happening when she herself isn’t even sure of what’s happening.

Lowering herself down to their level with a sigh, Fluttershy gently drags a hoof behind her pet bunny’s ears. Angel’s eyelids flutter close on instinct, leaning into the warm contact of his owner’s touch.

“I’ll be home soon, Angel Bunny. You be good today, okay? Take care of the others for me while I’m gone.” Fluttershy says with a more weary-than-normal inflection in her tone, but spares a smile nonetheless.

Angel Bunny seems to catch onto her unrest and decides to simply give an obedient nod, ears low. Not the usual pouty demeanor Fluttershy knows well.

Standing back to full height to hoist her saddle bag over her back and carry the plate of food with one of her wings, Fluttershy spares them one last glance and a parting wave goodbye before leaving her little shoddy apartment, locking the door behind her. But before she retreats down the dimly lit hallway, she briefly turns to the wooden door just across the hall from her, key between her teeth at the ready.

Pushing the door open slowly with a soft knock to signal her presence, Fluttershy quietly steps inside to be greeted by a friendly feline, stretching at her front and rubbing against her hooves with a gentle purr.

Fluttershy gives a slight smile as she traverses to the middle of the room, clearing her throat to catch the attention of the unicorn stallion settled on an artist's stool, hunched over a large canvas in the middle of the living room in deep concentration.

“—Ahem.”

_“Oh!”_

Startled, the stallion fumbles with a glass of paint brushes, round glasses slipping down his muzzle as he swiftly turns around in his seat to greet her.

“Another late night?” Fluttershy implies, glancing over at his messy art station in the living room and scooting over a can of wet paint brushes to make room for the breakfast she’d thoughtfully whipped up for him.

“Fluttershy, my dear.” He sighs gratefully with a smile when his gaze lands upon the small bag of food she set down for him on the coffee table. His eyes are genuine and grateful, and they crinkle at the sides when he smiles wide. “I really don’t know what I would do without you. I would probably just wither away, without a doubt.”

Fluttershy spares a lighthearted giggle as she steps over to get a better view of her best friend’s artwork, admiring the intricate craftsmanship with a slight raise of her brows and a small _“wow”._

“What do you think?” The messy-haired unicorn grins, pushing his glasses up higher to better view his work. “Commendable, is it? Art to inspire the future!” He waves his hooves in the air to exaggerate his words, chuckling at the end. “It’s for that new little art store shop front in town. You know, they tell me what to create, and I create it, but it just never seems... _enough._ It always feels like there could be more that I’m missing. I just don’t know what it is.” He shakes his head at his artwork signage, eyes calculating and judgmental of his work.

“It’s beautiful as always, Miles.” Fluttershy reassures kindly on a soft tone, offering him a reassuring pat to the back. “Your artwork never disappoints. No matter what others think, _I_ think it’s wonderful.”

“Well, if you say so, then I suppose it truly is.” Miles agrees with a playful shrug and spins on the bar stool to face his easel again, teal magic lifting his fine-tip paint brush dipped in red. “As always, I appreciate your approval.”

They both exchange good-natured smiles before Fluttershy re-adjusts her saddle bag and heads back towards the front door, wishing a contented Miles and his six cats farewell for the day.

_“Alas, we must part our ways! I bid thee adieu, my dear, but may fate make our paths reconvene once again.”_ Miles says in theatrics with an exaggerated wave of his hoof, playfully mimicking his favorite actors’ voice inflection from the old movie dramas they watch in good fun on their days off.

Stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her with a shake of her head and a laugh, Fluttershy trots down the hall of the apartment complex. She could still hear Miles softly humming musical sonnets from his apartment, and Fluttershy couldn’t seem to rid herself of that little smile etched on her face.

Muse Silverdrop — or Miles, as he preferred to call himself; her eldest and wisest friend whom she’s known for years since moving into this apartment complex. Their bond was inseparable — just two ponies trying to make ends meet. It seemed to work out as well as it could. A struggling artist and an overworked cleaner. Apart from her other closest friends in Ponyville, Miles was truly the only one she could come to at the end of the day and wind down with. To share her troubles, decompress her worries, spill all the tragedies of the day. And Miles would always listen.

Miles — the unicorn with a gift in artistry. The stallion with the thin, messy brown hair, speckled with peppered grey. The one with round lensed glasses that always seemed to slip down his nose whenever he was in deep concentration. The one she could truly call her closest friend, and the one who gave her the most priceless friendship she could ever ask for.

That stallion was like a father figure to her. Always making fun with terrible jokes, but also worrying and caring for the mare as if she were his own. It made her feel safe from the world, and really, she couldn’t ask for anything better than that. 

It was hard to shake off the lingering traces of a smile from her face at the thought. There’s a noticeable bounce in her step as she canters down the old metal apartment stairs leading down to the damp streets, glistening from the lights the nearby shops emitted in the night.

Through the drizzle of an oncoming rain shower, the sky was still basked in the dark before sunrise — the bus terminal bathed in a damp golden glow from the street lamps.

_Rain._ The thought of a thunderstorm brewing was enough to make an unsettling shiver crawl up the mare’s spine in remembrance of every nightmare burdened with fearsome thunderstorms.

Fluttershy sits and waits patiently on the edge of the wooden bench in silence, leg bouncing restlessly with overwhelming thoughts racing through her mind now that she’s finally caught a moment to sit back and mull over her thoughts. Soon finding herself victim to a hyperfixation of an echo of a long-gone nightmare still rattling around in her head — faint phantom whispers deluging through the sound of soft rain pellets hitting the ground with a light patter.

Then it all vanishes like a gust of wind blowing through the east when the trolley rolls up on the cobblestone road some time later, coming to a slow stop and emitting a settling creak when the doors open.

The young stallion driver with a neat indigo blue comb-over mane nudges his head to the side in a welcoming gesture towards the inside of the bus, a friendly smile on his face.

Rising from the dampening bench, Fluttershy boards with a timid smile directed at the driver and pays her dues with an appreciative _“thank you”_ before finding her seat in the middle rear, clutching her saddle bag close to her with a decompressing sigh as she curls up in on herself and leans her head against the foggy window.

The bus departs on the same route it does every morning — bumping over wet cobblestone roads on the same twenty minute commute. Tiny pellets of raindrops stick to the window and slowly glide down into a captivating mirage, catching the mare’s eye as she gazes out the window in absent thought.

Fluttershy lifts and adjusts the saddlebag against the cold glass surface of the window and gently leans her head against the sack to hold it in place, shifting and adjusting until she finds a comfortable position to rest in.

All within the next fifteen minutes, she spends the time watching all the buildings and trees pass by. Rain drops slide down the window and slightly occlude her view of the outside, but create an optical illusion that reminds her of some of Miles’s artwork. A daydream of blues and violets swept gracefully across a canvas, white and gold pigments highlighting the shadows of the world the way the street lamps illuminated the roads, the way the early sun peaking over the far horizon painted the streets in a muted, faint golden light. 

Until it all disappears inside the dark shadows of a tunnel.

The tunnel leads to the other side of town, where all the factories and governed facility laboratories exist, right on the outskirts of the district. Away from the general public, and perfectly obscured from view. Where everyday Fluttershy works, day and night.

She lets her mind wander as she stares off into the greenery scene, eyelids fluttering close with fatigue. And It’s some time later in the low light of the early morning, that she’s at least aware of.

She knows it’s her stop when the bus rolls to a halt at the entrance of the facility gates where the bus stop is, halting with creaking brakes that makes her slightly flinch. But she knows this is it, and shakes the last remnants of languor from her system before straightening up in her seat with newfound awareness.

Strapping her saddlebag to her back, she reluctantly leaves her seat and rushes off the bus, already falling into the automatic routine of trotting into the building, flashing her identification to the heavily armed guards posted out front, and rushing to catch the next elevator to the underground sub levels.

Of course, there is always a group of lab coat-clad scientists inside, stopping at different floors and running her even later. She could only anxiously wait inside until the elevator chimes and lights up the sub level five button.

When she steps out, the early morning hustle and bustle of the facility is already in full bloom.

** _“All personnel be advised that sector 10 has now been cleared to level 8 safety. Guidelines will be all clear—“_ **

The announcements over the intercom drone on at their typical intervals the moment the elevator doors slide open, revealing the inner core of the facility at the height of its morning workflow. While scientists and employees tread in every direction, Fluttershy fumbles through the crowd, uttering apologies and sparing apologetic glances when accidentally bumping into anypony on the way to the clock-in station. Her hooves echo against the tiled floor as she rushes to make it on time — mere seconds away from being late. But a familiar face holding up the line in a convenient stall leaves her overcome with a sense of relief.

_“Fluttershy, come, come!”_ The striped Zebra in line whispers through her teeth in an effort to avoid letting the others waiting behind her catch on to her doings.

Without wasting a second, Fluttershy meekly slips to the front of the line at her friend's protection and takes her time card from the holder, punching in and swiftly replacing it on the deck.

“I have to admit — It is no crime, but you _must_ learn to be on time." Zecora scolds her, and Fluttershy spares a small appreciative nod of her head and an apologetic smile in response. 

“Excuse me — Hey! What do you think you are doing?” A frustrated voice, thick with an accent, yells from the other end of the line, peeking out from behind the others with a vexed look etched on the elder mare’s face. “No cutting! In back like rest of us!”

“Leave her alone, I was keeping her place.” Zecora snaps back immediately, guiding Fluttershy away with a protective hoof. “And what shame, now you are late.”

The elder mare visibly clenches her jaw and huffs, pointing an accusatory hoof in their direction with harsh enunciation to her words.

“I get reported, I come after you _and_ the mare.”

“I would like to see her try.” Zecora mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “That nasty wretched mare would never seize the chance to lay a hoof on my dear friend Fluttershy.” She huffs, muttering something incomprehensible in her mouth tongue, but Fluttershy chooses to pay no mind to it.

”I really appreciate it Zecora, but you didn’t have to wait for me.” Fluttershy says regrettably, feeling more than guilt-ridden after the verbal scene she indirectly riled up.

“Nonsense.” Zecora firmly shakes her head. “It would be regrettable if you were late. Though I can’t help but notice that it seems you’re caught in a very… distressed state.” Her tone softens, features etched with traces of tender concern. Zecora dips her head down to Fluttershy’s level and makes an attempt to coax an explanation out of her.

“Tell me, what is the reason for your apparent fright? You really don’t seem quite alright.”

Of course, Fluttershy was a fool to assume Zecora wouldn’t know something was off. She tenses her brows at the prospect of having to talk about the nightmare after nearly forgetting about it, and she lets out a small breath through her nose. Even the way she’s walking is probably unusual, less energetic — more tense. 

Fluttershy stays impassively quiet, but Zecora's persistence is immutable.

“It's that nightmare again, isn’t it.” Zecora states knowingly, not even bothering to use a questioning inflection of her tone. Fluttershy instinctively scrunches her face up at her truth, nervously biting her lip.

“You know I can sense the stress and fear you so clearly emit.” Zecora adds, and Fluttershy caves in.

“It is.” Fluttershy admits with a defeated sigh, though nervous to even try to force herself to recall the details. But she knows it’ll have to be brought up sooner or later. There was no shoving it down to be forgotten when her friend is apt at knowing _everything_ about everyone.

“It’s just…” Fluttershy starts, her gaze glued to the ground. “I’m sorry, Zecora. I just don’t like to think or talk about it. I’m sure you understand. The nightmare is getting worse and I don’t know what to do besides _try_ to ignore it.” Fluttershy whispers, her voice on the verge of shaking. She doesn’t even spare a glance in Zecora’s direction, but she knows the zebra is listening with rapt attention. She could sense her concern, weighing the air around them heavy.

"Why have you not told me sooner of how often these nightmares trouble you?" Zecora says with dismay, her expression downtrodden with worry. "No offense, but to me, it does not seem to be something you alone can get through."

"I just didn't want you to worry about me. You're always so helpful and doing so much for me already, I couldn't possibly burden you with this, too." Fluttershy confesses, her head lowered in mild shame. "Besides, I thought it would go away on its own if I ignored it, but..." She trails off, letting the obvious implication hang in the air. 

Zecora casts a pitied look her way, and Fluttershy lowers her gaze to the ground.

“It just won’t go away, Zecora. I’ve tried everything. I keep seeing that nightmare every time I close my eyes, and I can’t stop hearing that… scary, disfigured voice. I’ve never heard a voice like that in my whole life!” Fluttershy waves an exasperated hoof in the air. “I don’t know why this is happening... All I know is that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

“The sleep elixir I brewed has not deemed your nightmares subdued?”

“I’m afraid not.” Fluttershy sighs. “If I keep having this same nightmare about my own workplace, I may have no choice but to…" She pauses to sigh. "I don't know... I might have to…”

Fluttershy fumbles over her words, struggling to even spare a thought to the concept of what she was imagining. She's sure it's the exhaustion planting the thought. In her right mind, she would have vehemently refused to give up the job she worked hard to get and worked even harder to keep. But the longer the thought lingers, the more and more inviting the idea sounds. 

But there's a sudden strange, aberrant hum of objection in the back of her mind. A thought or urge that tells her "No". A voice she can't discern is her own, or someone else's. 

It only drives more fear in her heart.

“Fluttershy, I understand your plight, but think about if what you are saying is right.” Zecora chimes in, stopping and pulling Fluttershy aside a few feet away from the entrance of the locker room where other employees mindlessly enter and depart to start their shifts.

“But I don’t know what to do. I have to do something about it or I’ll _have_ no choice.” The mare’s ears instinctively flatten with the distressing thoughts that followed in the path of her words. “But I really don’t want it to come to that.” She shakily sighs. “I can't.”

Zecora falls silent, her demeanor downcast with guilt. There wasn’t much else to be said that could possibly remedy the mare’s losing internal battle. Though while the zebra’s home remedies fell a tad short of being a cure-all, Zecora instead favors to seek infallibility in her mother tongue to reassure her downtrodden friend. 

“Worry not for what the future holds, but what you hold for the future." Zecora begins, her tone steady. "For we are the bearers of truth, only we light the path to which will lead us into the guileless wonder of a new lunar, all the more sooner. ” Zecora bears a faint, but sincere smile, settling a reassuring hoof on the cusp of Fluttershy’s chin to raise her attention.

_“Liwapokuwa likuwa.”_

“What does that mean?” Fluttershy asks through inquisitive blue eyes, rapt with attention.

“When it is to be, it will be.” Zecora nods her head along with her words to emphasize her point, and pulls the mare into a gentle embrace. “My dear, you will soon come to see.”

Fluttershy reciprocates the friendly hug with a more at-ease sigh and rests her head into Zecora’s shoulder, closing her eyes to savor the moment of contentment and reassurance.

“You really think so?” Fluttershy slowly parts from the gentle side-embrace, and Zecora spares a confident nod of her head as she coaxes Fluttershy to walk with her as she talks.

_“Msema kweli hakosi.”_

Fluttershy slightly raises her brow, and Zecora is quick to translate.

“One who tells the truth, makes no mistakes.”

In an assured manner, Zecora gestures her hoof towards the doorway, urging Fluttershy to go onward with a smile. “Now onward you go — surely our duties for the day still await.”

“Oh, you’re right. We’re already behind schedule.” Fluttershy realizes as she glances at the clock — already a quarter past the hour they were both supposed to be tending to cleaning the lab grounds already for the day. 

With a preparatory breath to ground herself, Fluttershy trots over to her respective locker just across from Zecora's and begins changing into her uniform attire. 

“I hope no one made too much of a mess in the labs yesterday.” Fluttershy says in idle chit chat, pushing her saddlebag into the locker with a little more haste than usual. “I don’t think we’ll have enough time to finish cleaning out the rest of sector five if they did.” 

As Fluttershy pulls her hair up into a hasty up-do and tucks the stray strands out of the way, she takes her apron from its hook and begins to tie it around her middle. But she doesn’t catch on to the odd look cast her way until she shuts her locker door and turns to face Zecora.

Zecora had come to a halt in the middle of tying a knot on her own pinafore to look towards Fluttershy with a suddenness, appearing caught off guard by something the mare had said. 

That’s when she starts feeling uneasy.

“What?” Fluttershy says hesitantly, glancing down at her apron to inspect for some kind of reasoning for the odd look. “Is there something on me?”

Zecora in turn furrows her brows, offering a terse shake of her head with a small _“no, no”_ and closes her own locker shut, replacing the lock and turning to face Fluttershy with her full attention.

“I’m sorry — I thought you were aware.” Zecora hesitates. “They reassigned us to sector thirteen. They haven’t told you of the affair?”

Fluttershy freezes, dread immediately overwhelming her at the news. At the mere mention of Sector 13, everything comes flooding back to her. Her fear. Her anxiety. Her _nightmare._

She barely manages to get a breath in — stunned into silence until the reality of the situation hits her full force. 

Fluttershy shakes her head vehemently when it dawns on her. “No, I — I can’t go back there, Zecora." Her voice begins to waver, thoughts spilling out of her in tandem with her panic. “They — They must have made a mistake! Why would they — There’s no way — ” 

“It is alright, don’t be alarmed!” Zecora immediately chimes in at the state of her, coming up close next to Fluttershy to firmly lay a gentle hoof to the side of her head to keep her in focus. “Look, I will be by your side every step of the way to ensure you are safe and unharmed.”

_“No, no,_ you don’t understand —" Fluttershy pleas in desperation, nearly on the verge of hyperventilating. "I _can’t_ go back there. I can’t— I can't— “ Fluttershy clutches her hooves to her mouth to try to suppress the hysterics from spilling out, struggling to regain control with herself. 

Zecora hesitantly relinquishes her grip on the distressed mare and shuffles back towards her own locker, messing with the locks and forcing it back open with haste. When she seizes a tinted vial from the pocket of her cloak, she turns back to Fluttershy, popping the cork off and holding it up to the shaken mare. 

“Easy, my dear, let's not give in to this fear. This mollifying tincture will render your mind reticent and should appease your tears.”

With a shaken sigh slipping past her lips, Fluttershy desperately accepts the vial held out to her and allows Zecora to tilt it back, pouring the contents of the vial into her mouth. With a large gulp and a sputtering cough at the sharp bitter taste, Zecora reassuringly rubs the mare’s back until she recovers from the bitter remedy.

“There you are. All will be fine.” Zecora says calmly to her, to which Fluttershy nods to, wiping her face down and sitting to catch her breath from the unexpected episode of panic. “With this concoction, you shouldn’t experience any more decline.”

“Thank you, Zecora, but… I really don’t know if I’ll be able to go back there. I don’t want to do this. _I'm scared._“ Fluttershy breathes out, but Zecora stops her before she could continue.

“Do not let this fear consume you. I know you too can be brave, and with time, your inner strength will accrue.” Zecora pushes back the undone strands of the mare’s messed hair and tenderly takes her by the shoulder, motherly and gentle in the way she delivers her tone. “No doubt in my mind, I believe it to be true.”

Casting her eyes downward in contemplation, Fluttershy spares a small nod of her head and sniffs, wiping away every last trace of tears from her damp face.

“...Okay.” Fluttershy whispers on a shaken breath, and after a second's worth of time, she gives another small nod as if reassuring herself that she would be fine. "Okay." 

Fluttershy feels an odd warmth flooding her veins after, a lightweight feeling clouding her head rather than that of petrified heaviness. Closing her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself, she focuses on pulling in that feeling and letting it envelop her, rather than the former one of oppressive fear. The room laid quiet after that. No feeling, seeing, or hearing anything for a blissful moment.

Just then, the last remaining ponies of the cleaning crew departed from the room, leaving just the two of them left to hurry to their designated stations.

Fluttershy casts Zecora a sincere look of gratification, her eyes slightly glistening with the panic tears that’d been shed. Settling the situation with an unspoken avowal exchanged through a mere glance, Zecora guides her from the benches and gathers the remainder of their things. And per their typical walking routine, it’s Zecora who’s the one to guide them out of the locker rooms and into the massive echoing halls.

But their walk that is usually spent talkative, is for once, spent in uncomfortable silence.

_____  


Soon, they were on the periphery of sector 13.

The corridors leading up to the sector were swarming with armed guards wavering through the halls, patrolling, casting looks of suspicion towards Fluttershy and Zecora. Upon their approach, the two heavily armored guards standing at the sector’s entryway stop them with a stern “halt”, followed by a request for their level access ID’s. 

Without a word, Zecora unclips her key card from her apron and displays it for the guard to inspect. Fluttershy, however, is caught in an unmoving state. Her eyes glued to the massive vault-like entryway.

An ominous chill crawls through her spine at the sight. 

“Ma’am.” One of the guards barks, startling her with a jolt to attention.

_“H—Huh?”_ She stutters on a mere whisper, eyeing between the two intimidating stallions in full armor.

“ID.”

With Zecora’s worried gaze on her, Fluttershy gasps with an _“oh”_ of realization and unclips her key card from her pinafore to give to the guard, to which they quickly accept, narrowly cast their gazes on for longer than she expects. She shifts nervously.

They hand it back without question.

“All clear.” The guard states, and his counterpart turns to a wall mounted access control panel, powering it into activation with magic. The panel chimes and brightly glows green, and the vault doors slowly pull apart with a heavy metallic grind, granting access to the deepest parts of the facility.

Seeking safety behind the cleaning cart, Fluttershy silently pushes the caddy through the entrance with Zecora following close at her side, watchful. 

There isn’t a single word exchanged between either of them as they wander through the lengthy corridors in search of T4, where their first cleanup duty of the day is. They weren’t exactly sure what to expect. T4 was never heard of between either one of them, only having cleaned the testing labs in the past.

But when they finally arrived, T4 was… not what they expected.

It was another unassuming vault door, though a bit smaller, the tag **“T4”** spray painted white on the faded green metal exterior. They both spare a skeptical glance at each other, but eventually, Fluttershy gives an affirming nod as Zecora swipes her access key card through the reader. It registers instantly with a green-lit _click._

The vault door begins to shift aside, emitting a noisy metallic excursion as it slowly pulls away into the walls and grants them access.

The sight beyond was _especially_ unanticipated.

Gaze caught by the massive glass fixture in the middle of the room, Fluttershy can’t help but stare, awestruck.

There was something akin to a containment vessel in the center of the room, filled to the brim with a strange bio-luminescent cyan fluid that channeled into the ground below. It glows in the dim light of the small area, basking the room in a sickly blue-greenish color. There was even a division of metal chains keeping the whole apparatus bound in place with the concrete floor, and it baffled her what they might need all this for in the first place.

Scientists were busy bustling around, constructors clad in orange vests tinkering with the large vessel. They were seemingly on the verge of completion on the project they were operating on.

Zecora was the first to step forth into the room, mouth slightly agape at the state of the space. It was a mess — plastic wrap scattered all over the floor in large heaps and puddles of fluid pooling the ground. The luminescent liquid even seemed to leave stains on the concrete.

“Pardon me, what pony folk are responsible for this? The trash belongs IN the bin!” Zecora scoffs in disbelief as she scrapes up the plastic wrapping in a pile, turning to Fluttershy who kindly holds out the trash bin for her to toss the mess into.

“You!” Zecora hollers, aiming her hoof at the stallion in an all-white garb who was caught in the act of throwing trash on the floor from high up on a ladder. “Let me not catch you enacting such disrespect again, or you will see my anger with the rest of them.” She shakes her hoof holding the trash at the unassuming white-clad personnel, and her stern demeanor seems to startle the working stallion in response.

“Okay, Okay! Sorry, Zecora! _Yeesh.”_ He says, climbing down from the ladder to retrieve the large heap of plastic he had thrown down earlier to properly discard it into the trash bin.

“Have these pony folk not heard of respect?” Zecora says in Fluttershy’s general direction, shaking her head with disapproval etched in her brows. “Were it not against regulation, I oughta —”

“Zecora!”

A voice suddenly erupts from a stallion stomping towards them, a clipboard tucked underneath his wing. Zecora recognizes the stallion as Fletching, head of security. The same stallion who reassigned them here in the first place.

“Enough with the chatter. There’s no need for any of that.” He reprimands, and Zecora gives a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“Yes, sir. My apologies —“

“Right, right. Back to work, now. We’ve got a lot to do!” Fletching waves his hoof in the air dismissively, and Zecora averts her gaze from the others and resumes cleaning, mouth shut in obedience.

“Anyways,” Fletching says, clearing his throat loudly to draw everyone’s attention in the room. “Everypony, your attention, please. Small moment of your time, If I may.” He says, striding into the middle of the room to become the center of attention. The sound of construction comes to a quick halt as personnel gather around the floor, taking Fletching with full attention.

“As many of you may already know, this morning we are expecting a new team and asset here in T4.” Taking a step aside, Fletching clears the floor for a new stallion to step forward. Stern green eyes, intimidating stature, and immaculate in the pristine white lab coat he dons.

“This is Dr. Hoofstead from our analogous facility in Galleston.” Fletching takes in a breath, turning to properly address the entire room. “Now, I don’t intend to exalt or _overemphasize_ the matter, however, this may be the most sensitive asset we have _ever_ had the privilege of housing in this very facility. They have gone through very laborious lengths to get their hooves on a specimen this phenomenal.” Fletching emphasizes his words with a stern look cast over his glasses.

But before he could open his mouth to continue, the vault door buzzes open.

With a metallic clang that makes even Zecora flinch, Fluttershy finds herself glued to the floor, frightened into submissive quietude. 

Four white-clad stallion unicorns enter the vault, escorting a massive metal vat inside. It rumbles on its wheels from the heavyweight inside, all four stallions using their magic strength to push it forth. Ponies around the room part ways to let the massive object through, the dozens of eyes unable to look away at the sight.

With some sort of morbid curiosity, even Fluttershy struggles to rip her gaze away. That is, until the clicking of hooves against the tiled ground following the vat’s entrance draws her attention.

A tall stallion in an all black suit follows behind the specimen, surveying the room with a hostile gaze.

As he comes strolling into the expanse of T4, Dr. Hoofstead approaches him in greeting, making small talk and inquiring about his trip. While it was for the most part, rudely disregarded with an uninterested _“fine”_, the grey stallion waves off Dr. Hoofstead and regards the room with a stern demeanor. Eyes piercing cold with judgement.

Fluttershy nervously bites the inside of her cheek. She’s never one to dislike ponies, but this one… Something about the unkind, sinister shadow in his eyes makes her blood run cold and settles an unpleasant feeling deep in her gut.

Dr. Hoofstead shakes his head in apathy and instead, takes attention to the vessel’s specimen.

“_Security._ Who’s security here?”

“Strickler!” Fletching calls out in answer, waving him over with a quick gesture of his hoof. “Welcome to T4, Sir. I’m Fletching, head of security. We are aware of everything, regarding… this specimen. And… oh, of course...” Fletching trails off, walking to the other side of the room to speak with Strickler in private.

Eyeing the two stallions as they stroll away, Fluttershy cautiously sweeps around the vessel, eyeing the glass paneling on the sides that flowed with a magical energy field. A familiar cyan fluid filled the vessel to the brim, sloshing around with the mysterious… _something _that resided inside. Curious, or perhaps driven by some sort of morbid interest, Fluttershy covertly pushes the dust pan she was working with aside and slowly creeps up to the vessel, once assured Zecora had her head turned away from sight. 

Fluttershy quietly admires the way the bio-luminescent fluid flows against the glass, mesmerized by the motions and sounds of oxygenated gases pumping through the fluids in a consistent rhythm.

Pressing a light-as-air hoof to the cool exterior of the magical barrier over the glass, the mare curiously tilts her head to try to get a better view of what exactly was shifting around inside. The specimen from within emits a low, groan-like sound, to which she furrows her brows at in turn.

By some strange urge compelling her to investigate, the mare gently taps a hoof against the barrier.

She leans in close.

_ **BOOM!** _

Startled, Fluttershy jolts backwards with a sharp gasp as a claw shoots up at the glass, viciously scratching it from the inside. Zecora, who abruptly shot her head up at the sound, comes to Fluttershy’s aid, pulling her away by the shoulder as Strickler and Fletching approach the vessel, clearly shaken.

“Are you stupid? Get them out of here!” Fletching yells, seizing the vessel by the metal bars for manual transportation. _“Out, out!”_

But Fluttershy doesn’t budge, even with Zecora at her side. Whatever was inside _howled._ It cried out, muffled by the thick fluids inside the vessel. The mare’s eyes were locked onto the creature in the vessel, despite it being blurred behind the barrier.

Confusion and worry overcomes her features, unable to move until the vessel is seized by the transporters in white and taken away. Even then, the creature inside still relentlessly howls and scratches from inside the vessel as it rolls away. 

“Help me move the vessel into the suppressor, now.” She hears Fletching order, aided by the transporters in the room. “Get it over there!”

As the workers obey his order, Fletching comes rushing up to Fluttershy and Zecora and guides them out of the vault with more force than necessary, shoving them out as Zecora hastily pushes the caddy in tow.

In all the uproar, Fluttershy’s desperate attempt to catch sight of the scene unfolding from within the room is to no avail, as the vault soon closes shut right in her face. But even as the vault door gears click into a deadlock, she doesn’t move, frozen still in shock. 

“My _goodness_, what is it that goes on in this place?” Zecora exclaims, hardly able to keep the hastily thrown equipment from falling off the caddy in their rush to depart. “That there is a sight I hope my mind will soon erase.”

Fluttershy, still caught in the whirlwind of it all, swallows uneasily at the threshold of the vault door, still struggling to register the sight of what she saw behind the small glass barrier. 

It felt… _familiar._ Like she’s heard that particular howl before, in some very distant memory. Or perhaps it was familiar in the sense that she’s heard something akin to a noise like that before. Caring for animals her entire life, one tends to pick up on certain animalistic mannerisms. And the noise she heard just now wasn’t of anger — It was _fright._ Whatever creature resided inside the vessel wasn’t lashing out in rage.

It was defensive out of fear.

“Fluttershy, are you okay?”

There’s a brief pause, no response.

“Fluttershy, let us not delay! It is not wise to stand there all day!”

She hears Zecora speak up, and after a moment, Fluttershy idly nods in response, reluctantly stumbling away from the vault door to reconvene with her friend.

_“Did you see that?”_ Fluttershy said, eyes wide and still struck. _“What was that?”_

Zecora could only shake her head with incredulous disbelief, an unknowing shrug on her shoulders in reply. But Fluttershy was still caught on the subject, disturbed and far too intrigued by the unnatural presence in that room. She’s never been that up close to one of the facility's specimens before.

No, not specimen. They had called it an _asset._

Mulling over the concept as they trot down the endless white corridors, she knows Zecora has long since forgotten about the matter, but Fluttershy finds herself thinking about it regardless, unable to shake the sight out of her mind. And with a looming sense of impending danger giving her a mild chill, she feels something strange overwhelm her — some natural instinct to protect. The noise out of the vessel just wasn’t right.

There was something terribly wrong with this place.


	2. The Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something draws her near — something indecipherably enticing, a strong invitation luring her in. She tries to wade through the deluge of muddled whispers fading in and out of her subconscious, trying to grab onto the vestige of the call that just _feels_ familiar, but just as she would come close to taking hold, it would slip out from under her grasp. 
> 
> Such a familiar call, she swears she’s heard it before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Just as the constant increase of entropy is the basic law of the universe, so it is the basic law of life to struggle against entropy.” _  

> 
> __
> 
>   
_\- Vqclac Havel_   


“See, Tantalus never achieved the escape of death. Because the fruit on the branches were just always out of reach, ever eluding his grasp. And the water in the stream receded every time he stooped down to drink. So that’s why we say things today, like…”

Miles pauses to let out a wistful sigh as he stares off into the distance.

“Just look at that tantalizing—“

Fluttershy abruptly interrupts by clearing her throat in mild embarrassment, hiding her face behind the tea cup in her grasp.

“What?” Miles deadpans, feigning a clueless act of innocence — his eyes still gazing ahead at the figure working behind the espresso bar locked in conversation with a blonde mare.

“Well, a thousand pardons if I don’t find it wrong of me to admire one’s eye-catching aesthetics from a distance. A stallion can admire whomever he pleases, can’t he?” He scoffs into his cup of coffee.

Fluttershy meekly shrugs her shoulders and slightly nods in simple reply with a brief raise of her brows, occupied with the task of taking sips from her tea in silence. But Miles was restless, still nursing his coffee and spewing odd remarks here and there in his odd moment of neurasthenia.

Nervousness creases his brows as he seemingly mulled over his thoughts in silence, his foreleg restlessly bouncing up and down underneath the table.

Then —

“I’m going over there.” He suddenly says.

Fluttershy practically sputters into her cup. She immediately whips up a napkin from the table to press to her mouth and shoots a confused look at him, but she’s barely able to spare a word before Miles is already out of the booth, heading over to the bar.

Worrying her bottom lip, Fluttershy throws back the rest of her cooled tea in one swig and abandons their table to reconvene with him at the bar, where Miles has taken occupancy in a seat in his own company. Fluttershy quietly slides onto the stool beside his own, exchanging a fleeting look of hesitation, but Miles simply inhales proudly in response and politely clears his throat, straightening up when a familiar voice pipes up cheerfully from behind the mahogany counter.

“Welcome to The Espresso Room, glad ta’—” The barista whisks around to greet Miles , but stills the second their gazes meet. “Hold on, you look a might familiar. I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

“Ah, well you see—“ Miles starts, trying arduously to suppress every socially awkward tendency he felt rising to the surface.

“You’re the one who always orders the uh, the fruitcakes, right?”

Miles gives a small timid chuckle at the remark and slightly nods his head, averting his crinkled eyes down at the wooden bar table instead.

“Yeah, that’s me. I come here quite often — my good friend here, not so much. She’s more of a tea enthusiast.” Miles rests a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder in a weak attempt to coax her into the conversation, but she only smiles shyly, gives the barista a small wave and averts her gaze at the artwork on the walls in distraction.

“Sorry, she’s a little shy.” Miles adds, casting her a side glance. “But this gal here — she’s my partner in crime.”

“Ah, I see.” The comment earns a chuckle from the barista and an acknowledging nod of his head. “Pleasant to meet you, dear. It’s good ta’ have the both of y’all here. The name’s Cider Tart, by the way. Pleasure to officially meet you, sir.” Cider extends his hoof out in a mindful manner, and Miles practically overflows with joy as he accepts the hoof shake, trying to refrain from being too over enthusiastic with it.

“Sir? Oh please, no need with the formalities.” A warm laugh escapes Miles as he parts from the touch, waving a hoof dismissively in the air. “Muse Silverdrop, but you can call me Miles.”

“Oh, of course. Will do, Miles.” Cider gives a small nod of his head with that same charming smile etched into his demeanor, and Miles couldn’t help but let out a small exhale at the sight of his features lit up by the early morning sunrise flooding in through the windows. Even Fluttershy seemed to pick up on Miles’s moment of unmistakable infatuation, that she hid her face behind her hair to direct her playful tease of a smile in his direction, to which Miles saw and reacted with a poorly restrained blush and a discreet nudge of her hind leg underneath the table to get her to quit it.

This only made Fluttershy grin wider.

However, in an effort to keep Cider’s interest and evade Fluttershy’s teasing gaze, Miles hones his attention back to the bar instead, tucking his hoof underneath his chin to lean in closer to the bar in a display of interest.

“So... Cider Tart, huh?” Miles regards questioningly in a manner of playful intention. Cider lets out a small, charming laugh as he tilts his head to the side in a partially shy nod.

“Yeah, I know. _What’s a pony with a pastry cutie mark doing in a coffee shop?_ Well, what I lack in coffee expertise, I make up with whipping up one helluva’ pastry. It helps the business, y’know. The apple turnovers are my specialty here, but I dabble.” Cider cracks a smile as he gestures a hoof at the espresso machines behind him, and Miles nods his head in acknowledgement with a smile just as wide to match his.

“So, anyways, what can I get y’all today? The house special?” Cider grins with all teeth and dimples, thick on his country accent. Even the way his thick curly brown hair curls over his forehead, bringing out the vibrant emerald of his eyes is charming and so _tantalizing_, Miles thinks to himself.

Miles doesn’t even think to say anything in response — so caught up in his infatuation that he doesn’t snap back to reality until Fluttershy firmly nudges his leg underneath the bar to redirect his attention to the question left unanswered.

Miles nervously clears his throat, trying to play it off with a bashful laugh.

“Ah, ahem, no sorry — I’ll just have the usual. _Two_ to go this time, please.” Miles briefly turns his head towards Fluttershy, wearing a bright smile. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“Right ya’ are.” Cider says with a gentle huff of laughter and nods, turning quick on his hooves to fetch a brown takeout bag. “Two fruitcakes, comin’ right up.”

Fluttershy could only watch from the sidelines in silence, casting Miles what is clearly a very confused glance. He leans down to her side, whispering to her a hasty _“just go along with it, for me”_. And if it was for the sake of her friend, well... There was nothing else she could really do but cooperate for his own sake.

“It’s ah, a little indulgence of mine.” Miles starts up again, leaning over the bar table to address the stallion. “Can’t possibly be good for me in the long term — what with my sweet tooth and all. But you can never really cut it out these days, y’know?” He chuckles lightly, the small spark of a conversation giving him a little glimmer of hope.

But Fluttershy wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the wooden table in defeat. What was he trying to do — _bore_ him to death? She couldn’t stand to listen to much of the conversation out of sheer embarrassment — not that she would’ve been any better in a similar confrontation, though that didn’t mean it was any less painful to have to listen to her friend struggle though it while sitting in her little corner of quietude. Much so, that she eventually finds herself fumbling with the folded napkins as a distraction instead, trying to tune out the sounds of Miles’s blundering amiability.

“It’s a mighty fine indulgence, indeed.” Cider replies, neatly folding over the top ends of the bag to fold over and scoot over to Miles. “Quite unlike any other, if I say so myself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly agree more.” Miles says gently, making eye contact with the barista for a little longer than he anticipates, and Miles abruptly clears his throat when Cider stares expectantly, starting to shift his features into a slightly more confused one.

“The — The cakes, I mean. A very fine indulgence, yes. Indeed.” Miles plays it off with a breathy laugh as he slides the brown takeout bag to his side of the table, glancing over to Fluttershy to signal it was time for their departure. She couldn’t look any more eager as she slides down from her bar stool, already making her way to the front door.

“Hey,” Cider suddenly pipes up, and Miles whips his head back around to attention with a slight curious quirk of his brow. “I put a little something extra in there for you two. On the house.”

“_Oh,_” Miles sighed out with a delighted raise of his brows, a trace of genuine gratefulness shifting his features. “You shouldn’t have. _Goodness_ — you’re too kind.”

“Nonsense.” Cider waves it off nonchalantly. “It’s a new recipe I’ve been workin’ on, figured I’d let you have the honor of taste testing it for me.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to report back with my findings.” Miles coolly salutes in acknowledgement, however just before he could get himself wrapped up in another conversation, Fluttershy takes him by the hoof and urges him out of his seat. Indolently leaving his spot with a small grumble and an _“okay, okay, we’re going now,''_ Fluttershy spares a polite smile at Cider before gently coaxing Miles towards the diner door with a slight tug.

Miles bids him a chaste farewell, and Cider reciprocates with a small wave of his hoof in return.

“Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

_____

A heavy sigh carries through the room.

“Do you think he really meant it?” Miles says out of the blue, poorly-restrained worry dripping from his tone.

Fluttershy glances over at him from her hardly-eaten slice of fruitcake, partially clueless to what he meant.

_“Y’all come back now…”_

She raises her head in a moment of understanding to what he meant, but finds herself struggling to come up with some kind of pragmatic response. But Miles starts again before she could even construct one good enough.

“He noticed me.” Miles says, staring down at the fruitcake on his plate with a gleam in his eye as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Like — _really_ noticed me this time. You saw it too, right?”

Fluttershy nods gingerly as she pokes at her fruitcake in disinterest.

“Still, that did not go nearly as well as I’d hoped it would.”

Fluttershy takes in a slight breath fully intending to second that claim, though instead, scrunches up her face at the awkward taste on her tongue from the fruitcake on her plate. Miles notices this right off the bat and can’t help but let out an amused chuckle at the sight.

“What? Is the taste too much? You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it.”

At that admission, Fluttershy politely pushes the plate away on the coffee table and takes a napkin to try to discreetly spit out the remains in her mouth, turning away to at least try to spare Miles the shame of it. But all he does is snicker amusingly.

“Well, since my refined tastes clearly don’t agree with your taste buds, should we try... _the mystery pastry?_” Miles comically pauses for dramatic effect, passing her half a slice of a turnover wrapped neatly in brown wax paper. She accepts it with a grateful smile and a hum of admiration, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting through the small apartment air immediately lifting her spirits.

“_Cheers._” They playfully tap their slices together before taking a bite. Almost immediately, their eyes widen in astonishment at the piquancy of flavor that burst across their taste buds.

_“Wow.”_

A moment of awe passes before they turn to glance at one another and right away, they bubble up with laughter and exchange contended hums of approval, hardly sparing any words as they indulged on their pastry’s abysmal sweetness.

“Ah, well.” Miles starts, sighing happily as he finishes off his half of the pastry. “At least we got something out of this whole mess, right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a complete mess.” Fluttershy answers gently, crumpling up the wax paper and discarding it on the coffee table near his. “He _did_ smile back at you, even though your conversation was, um… maybe a little lackluster in some parts.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Or a lot of parts.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Miles says flatly, slightly furrowing his brows at her but playing it off with a growing smile. Fluttershy counters with a shrug and her own demure smile, leaning back quietly into the couch cushions.

“I see how it is.” Miles playfully retorts, scoffing into his other plate of now-crumbled fruitcake. “I try to get somepony to like me, and that’s mystifying. And what about you?”

Fluttershy slightly quirks her brow in confusion, turning her gaze to Miles.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Miles gently bumps his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, practically staring her down with that analytical gaze she knew of him well. That look Fluttershy [i]knows[/i] she’s about to receive a lecturing in. But she merely sits still in silence, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and turns tense with being tossed under the spotlight suddenly.

“You’ve been acting real strange lately. You’ve barely even spoken a word today. I know you’re naturally quiet, I get that, but this — this isn’t really like you.” Miles tenses his brows, tilting his head at her. But Fluttershy instinctively dips her head down with chagrin, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Miles.

“And It’s clearly more serious than fruitcakes, I can tell.” Miles’s voice dips softer in tone, and worry is clear on his face. “Is someone bothering you? Did something bad happen?” His tone of voice instinctively lowers in caution.

Right away, Fluttershy quickly shakes her head in denial and habitually fidgets with her mane.

_“No, no. _It’s — It’s nothing like that. It’s just — ” She stutters over her words, pausing briefly to take a reposing breath to ease her nerves before continuing. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

An incredulous scoff breaks the silence.

“Never mind me. Look at you, Dear.” Miles implores, worry ravaging his tone. “You look like you haven’t slept in millennia. I notice you don’t even smile as much as you used to. It’s like you’re… retreating back into your old self again. I can tell you’re hiding something like you’re scared to death of it. This isn’t like you.” He emphasizes his point by pressing a hoof to his chest, his bright eyes crestfallen. “This isn’t the you I know.”

A heavy sigh slips past her, and she swears she could feel her heart crumble.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Fluttershy musters, resulting in a defeated silence from Miles. But she takes an unsteady breath, hesitating with the words struggling to come out of her. Unsure of how to explain anything.

“It’s, um…” She starts, her grip unconsciously tightening into her mane. “It’s been these bad dreams. They’ve been keeping me up at night — I haven’t really slept.”

Miles’s ears flicker with interest, his brows rising slightly as he turns his head over to her.

“You’ve been having nightmares? For how long?”

Fluttershy nods and swallows, visibly tense just talking about it.

“For a while now.” Her voice shifts into a whisper, hiding her face away. “I can’t even begin to tell you what they are because I— I don’t even know what it is myself.” Her chest rises and falls with heavy sighs, feeling a tingle creep through her head with just trying to recall details of the nightmare. It makes her temples ache with a familiar pang.

“But It’s always the same one. Every night.“ Her grip slowly falters from her hair, and she rests her hooves in her lap, staring down at them.

“I think It’s because I saw something I shouldn’t have at work.” She confesses, her tone of voice tensive. “In sector thirteen. I was assigned to clean the testing labs that day, but I heard them in the other room with _something_, and I heard… Oh, I heard the most _awful_ noise. I think they were torturing a creature.”

Miles looks taken aback at her confession, mouth slightly parted, though quiet in waiting until Fluttershy comes to a short halt in her story to reflect in mild distress.

“Are you serious? What did you do?”

“I tried to see what was happening and I saw something. I don’t know what it was — I could only make out the shadows on the wall at first, but it saw me and looked at me with — with these piercing red eyes. I was so scared, I ran. But ever since then...” Fluttershy suddenly trails off, looking down into her hooves without another word to say next. Her mouth closes, and her tense shoulders sag.

“That’s when the nightmares started.” Miles finishes that sentence, putting the pieces of the puzzle together on his own.

“And they won’t stop.” The rosy mare says wearily, fidgeting with the feathers on her wings and mindlessly brushing them out as they talk. 

“I’ve worked there for a long time, Miles. It’s a thankless, terrible job, but I do it because no one else will, and I need the money.” Fluttershy sighs as her voice wavers. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. It’s gotten so bad, I’m having _nightmares_. I’ve never felt like this before.” Fluttershy lets her shoulders drop, and her voice raises an unusual octave higher, heated with worn out frustration consuming her frazzled nerves. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake working here.”

A sigh slips from Miles in a wave of sympathy, his eyes wrought with heartache as she pours her heart out.

“Tell me—” She pleads, though pausing as if she were unsure of the words of the words that came from her. “Miles, _what do I do?_”

Miles hesitates, mouth parted in an incredulous manner but also with an indecisive answer stuck on his tongue.

“This is... My dear, I don’t...” Miles starts in uncertainty, his gaze stuck to the floor as he wracks his mind for some sort of resolve. But eventually, he winds up turning his gaze back to Fluttershy, reaching out for her hoof to give it a reassuring squeeze as he scoots closer to her, seeking her attention.

“I can’t tell you anything that will be worthwhile.” Miles confesses, but adds on posthaste. “As far as advice goes. But you know — when I was going through the exact same thing you’re going through right now, do you know how many times I wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits, but didn’t?”

Fluttershy furrows her brows, giving a terse shake of her head.

“Many times.” Miles shakes his head in ponderment. “Many times. I’ve been angry. Tired. Disappointed in the world. In myself. There were so many times I wanted nothing more than to just run and hide in all the anger and shame I felt and just never look back at the world. But there is a huge difference between wanting to give up and being fed up. And you know what I see?”

Fluttershy slightly shifts her brows in revelation, and Miles reaches out to extend a hoof for her to draw near. At first, she only casts it a side-glance, but eventually accepts the offer without complaint.

“I see somepony who is fed up.”

Tugging her forward gently, Miles envelopes her in a hug, easing her head against his chest. She wordlessly accepts the embrace, settling in with a sigh.

“You’re a clever, clever girl.” Miles starts, uttering sincerities with that same fatherly worry written on his face. “You still have your youth — you’re so full of potential. Don’t let this world ruin such a beautiful thing.” He gently strokes a hoof through her rosy hair, then gives a small nudge of her shoulder to get her to sit up.

Fluttershy does, reluctantly, and Miles could hardly restrain a small sigh at the disheveled sight of her. After a bit of silence, he even makes an effort to preen her messy mane out of her face as he carries on.

“But you know, if I were young like you again, you know what advice I would give myself?”

“What?” Fluttershy asks softly with piqued interest.

“All that confusion, frustration, and anger you’re feeling? Use it. Use it as fuel to turn whatever is wrong, into right. And don’t take [i]anyone’s[/i] bullshit in the process — I mean it. Take it from an old stallion like me who refuses to back down. I’ll tell you, in the end, it’s worth it” Miles says with an exaggerated wave of his hoof, and he doesn’t expect the small laugh that bubbles up in Fluttershy’s throat. The small sound from her made his chest want to burst with joy, but he carries on nonetheless.

“When the world is telling you to move, saying you don’t belong, you plant yourself and stay right where you are. Your choices led you down this path for a reason. Your fears, your anxieties — this is that point in your life where it’s time to confront them. I mean, just look at how far you’ve carried all of this weight on your shoulders. _Four years?_ I’ve known stallions who couldn’t put up a _day_ of what you do. That’s the main difference between them and you — your strength of mind is unmatchable. It’s fucking _incredible_.”

Miles pauses, amused to see the look of surprise on Fluttershy's face at his choice of words, and oh how he wanted nothing more than to assure she would never become anything different than this.

“Pardon my language, but you know I’m right, don’t you? Of course you do. _You’re Fluttershy_. The mare with unparalleled fortitude and the kindest heart I’ve ever seen. You’re the most remarkable mare I’ve ever met in my lifetime, and I hope you never get tired of hearing that because I fully intent to tirelessly remind you of the fact. But I meant what I said, my dear."

Fluttershy tenses her brow in thoughtful ponderment, fidgeting with the locks of rosy mane in her grasp in quiet fretfulness.

“All of this? It’s happening for a reason. And if there’s one thing you should do, you know what that is?”

“What?” She perks up, finally breaking her gaze away from her mane to cast them upward at Miles in wholehearted interest in what he has to say.

A proud smile crosses Miles’s face at that tiny glimmer of light anew in her bright blue eyes.

“You, my dear, _fight like hell._”

_____

_RING_

_RING_

_RING_

A hoof slams over a blaring alarm clock, and Fluttershy sighs herself out of bed.

The stove boils hot water.

The bath runs warm water.

The animals are fed.

The calendar is changed.

Fluttershy flips over the small paper to read the quote of the day as part of her daily routine.

_THOUGHT OF THE DAY_

_Study the past if you would divine the future._

And it gives her the smallest sliver of hope.

_____

“You two would not _believe_ the day I’ve had.”

As Fluttershy’s soiled mop sweeps over the surface of a sparkling bathroom tiled floor, the mare keeps her head down as a scientist walks up behind her and Zecora from the bathroom entrance with a clipboard in his grasp. She’s not sure who it is, and frankly, she was too nervous to glance behind the fallen locks of her mane occluding her vision to find out.

“And it’s only the crack of dawn. Crazy, ain’t it?” He comments idly as he washes his hooves in the sinks, smearing something inky-black all over the silver faucet without care. And Fluttershy swears she sees him purposefully drag it all over the clean counter surface too, pretending not to notice as he reaches for the towel left there to dry his hooves on.

The mare’s eyes just slightly widen and budding frustration flickers in her chest. She clenches her jaw and looks away, scrubbing the floors just a little harder.

She knows she can’t say anything.

“Sure is somethin’, huh.” The scientist mutters under his breath as he cracks a grin at the two mares, haphazardly tossing the used towel back on the counter.

“Oh, my bad. You’ll clean that up, _wontcha?_” The scientists cracks a condescending smile before sauntering out the door. And once he’s out of ear-shot, Zecora is the one to huff loudly in disapproval, matching Fluttershy’s same level of unspoken frustration.

And once Fluttershy draws near the counter — once sparkling clean, now a soiled mess — Zecora shakes her head in disapproval as she throws the soiled towels in the caddy bin.

“The greatest minds of a generation with no manners.” Zecora utters under her breath and snatches up a rag from the caddy to help clean up the mess. “At least for some of us, having a little common courtesy [i]does[/i] matter.”

Fluttershy reacts with a nod and a light scoff as she gets to work on the counters, switching the sink on and wiping the viscous black fluid down the drain. What was this stuff, anyways?

She furrows her brow as she scrubs it down.

In the silence of the room, Zecora makes small talk in normality, exchanging life stories and jokes with one another to pass the time. Fluttershy spares her idle speculative comments here and there at her stories, her occasional small chuckles turning into laughter when Zecora recalls something especially entertaining.

With the counters fresh and new, Fluttershy begins to replace the soiled towels one by one until the sound of the bathroom door opening again catches her attention. This time she glances over, and the pleasant smile on her face vanishes — The laughter immediately dying in her throat.

Zecora awkwardly trails off in her laughter as well, clearing her throat politely in acknowledgement of a familiar stallions presence.

“Mr. Strickler. Excuse us—“

“Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt. You ladies seem to be chatting enjoyably.” Mr. Strickler says plainly, hardly any trace of hostile intention in his voice, however still ever so visually intimidating. “Don’t mind me.” He insists, waving a hoof in the air dismissively. “Carry on with your girl talk.”

His polished hooves click and echo against the tile as he wanders over to the sinks, relinquishing his hold of a strange black apparatus to set on the edge of the counter.

There’s a silver glimmer of light that shines in Fluttershy’s vision as she moves closer to the object, her eyes glued to the object in morbid curiosity as she moves close to restock the sinks with clean towels.

”Look. Don’t touch.” Strickler suddenly says as he washes his hooves, and Fluttershy instinctively tenses up at the sound of his tone of voice and immediately moves away when she wanders a little too close for his liking.

Heart pounding much too fast, Fluttershy re-assumes her spot near Zecora, the small towels in her grasp pressed to her chest insecurely.

After Strickler is done drying the water off his hooves, he steps into one of the stalls, but carries on talking regardless. It makes the entire exchange even more uncomfortable.

“That lovely thing right there is Calfabana-made. Hand crafted molded rubber grip, low-current, high voltage shock picana prod.” The words roll right off his tongue without hesitation or a single pause, clearly proud of this so-called “thing of beauty”.

“The name is Strickler. Security.” He says just as the stall door opens. Pulling a small carton of candies out from the pocket of his black coat with his magic, he steps to the sinks to glance at himself in the mirror, tilting his head back and forth from side to side to acclaim his appearance. A neat and short comb-over mane, black as coal and immaculate, not a single hair seemingly out of place. His light grey complexion intensifying the vivid golden hue of his irises. Lifting a hoof to spruce up his slicked back hair and flattening the strays around the base of his horn, he gives a contented hum. But just before he pulls away from the counter, he catches Fluttershy’s gaze through the mirror, making accidental eye contact.

Fluttershy quickly looks away in silence when she’s caught. Instead, staring down at the towels in her tight grasp.

Strickler slightly shakes his head as he casually pops a candy into his mouth, still staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He says through a half-hearted grin.

Fixing his gaze on the cattle prod, he snatches the wand off the counter and slides it back into the Velcro holster strapped to his waist before sauntering off towards the doors. But just before he departs, he turns around, sparing a slight farewell wave.

“You ladies have a nice day now.” Strickler says, obviously feigning a real smile.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Fluttershy’s shoulders fall with the breath she didn’t even know she was holding and she eases up on the tense hold she had on the towels pressed tight to her chest. She glances over at Zecora, who was clearly shaken and nervous about the unsettling encounter just as much. They exchange exasperated glances before going back to the task at hoof, though the air between them this time is far more tense.

Zecora gestures at the counters for Fluttershy to hurriedly tidy up, and the mare does so obediently in her silence. But as Fluttershy reaches out to set a fresh towel on the edge of the sink, something glistening catches her eye.

Blood.

_____  


The sound of a wet mop sloshing against the tile ground disrupts the quietude in the halls — an eerie silence casting over Sector 13 as the scientists had long since dispersed to their duties in the laboratories and gone on their lunch breaks. Only the occasional on-duty guard briskly passes by to monitor the corridors, but even then, they didn't spare any passing chit chat.

As the afternoon lull dawns on them, Fluttershy sweeps and mops in silence, her mind completely disconnected from the menial task as she moves on autopilot. Instead, razing over swarming thoughts. As was Zecora — who was occupied with scrubbing a stubborn oil stain on the ground while lost in her own mind. Despite the silence, neither of them talked, still trying to contend their disconcerted nerves from the unexpected encounter with Strickler earlier.

Leaning herself against the stick of the broom, Fluttershy sweeps the back of her hoof across her forehead to dry the sheen of sweat forming on her temples from the laborious work on her haunches. Turning to face Zecora, she spares a modestly relieved smile.

“I’m finished.” Her voice comes purposefully gentle, as to not disturb the placid quietude of her friend’s own work. This gauges her attention and Zecora lets out a satisfied hum.

“Alright my dear, I’m just about done here. We should grab some lunch now, yes?” Zecora says, leaning back on her hind legs to glance up at Fluttershy with a reciprocating smile. “I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve earned the right to some rest.”

Softly giggling behind the broom to which Zecora spares her own airy laughter, Fluttershy steps over to the caddy to shelf her cleaning supplies, hearing her friend rise with a small grunt and toss her own scrub brush into an empty bucket. But their exchange of smiles and laughter were fleeting.

Instead, replaced with sudden fright.

A conspicuous noise interrupts their moment of palaver — something sounding suspiciously like a gunshot echoes through the halls. It startles them from their stupors with a jolt, their eyes drawing towards one another with confusion and fear etched into their faces. Though before Zecora could get a word out, the facility gives a sudden tremble beneath them, drawing a frightened gasp from Fluttershy.

Even the fluorescent hallway lights momentarily fail, flickering in and out from a strange power fluctuation that left them temporarily stranded in the tenebrous dark before the lights were able to kick back on.

Fluttershy trembles where she stands, feeling her throat clamp up with that familiar creeping of anxiety. Struggling to formulate a sentence in the presence of fear, she's cut short when she hears a shrill scream emanate from down the hall.

Fluttershy instinctively drops the broom from her grasp and stumbles towards Zecora in fright — who winds up standing in front of her as a line of protection. As they peer down the hall together in curious regard, their question as to the source of the quandary eventually answers itself.

The scream had come from T4.

Fluttershy flinches in alarm as the vault door opens with a loud clamor, a blare of emergency alarms basking the hallway in an ominous red tone. A figure slowly emerges from the doorway, limping and stumbling into the middle of the hall — and until the odd figure stepped into the light, everything came into full clarity.

It was Strickler.

The arm of his suit coat had been violently ripped apart, three deep claw wounds slicing his left forearm wide open. Blood spurs down his uninjured arm in rivulets as he grips tight at the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding with pressure, but it was to no avail. His once cold, intimidating eyes were wide with shock, donning a thousand yard stare.

As Strickler unsteadily emerges from the shadows of the hall and into the overhead light, there's a rough, ragged fracture where his horn used to be. 

Losing the strength in his back legs, Strickler collapses in the middle of the hallway right before their eyes, unable to keep himself upright any longer. That’s when Fletching comes rushing out from inside T4 to hurriedly drop at Strickler’s side, his face as pale as a ghost as Strickler’s blood trickles and smears against his white lab coat.

“_Help!!_” Fletching shouts, frantic over the clamor of alarms going off. “_We need help! He’s bleeding out!_”

As a plethora of armed guards come hurriedly marching forth, a team of medical staff in their trail, Zecora backs away and urges Fluttershy with her — who was cowering wide-eyed, face just as pale as Fletching's.

“Don’t look, don’t look.“ Zecora whispers to Fluttershy with unease as she tugs on her pinafore, trying to draw her away from the sight. Eventually, Fluttershy gives in to Zecora’s insistence and she tears her gaze away from T4, following Zecora’s leave as she hastily rolls the caddy in tow down the hall in the opposite direction.

With alarms blaring and whistles blowing in a state of ubiquary panic, they hurriedly flee the scene with their hearts racing in their chests.

____

“In all my years, I have _never_ seen anything like it.” Zecora reflects in a hushed tone, leaning in close to Fluttershy to avoid eavesdroppers from listening in. “What do you suppose it was? Surely no ordinary pony could have been the cause.” She speculates in idle conversation.

“I— I don’t know.” Fluttershy shakes her head and shrugs unknowingly, reflexively stroking the stray locks of her rosy mane. “That was a lot of… you know. Do you think he…” Fluttershy trails off, letting the unspoken implication speak for itself.

Zecora catches on fairly quick to the mare’s connotation and looks down at her lunch, picking at her food with her lapsing appetite.

“With a traumatic injury of that nature sustained, there’s no second guessing the fact that he must be _extremely_ pained.” Zecora notes, giving a slight tilt of her head in thought. “However to answer your question, yes.” She adds, discussing the situation in a hushed whisper. “He’ll survive, albeit under severe duress.”

Fluttershy nods in acknowledgement of Zecora’s claim, but her mind was still reeling with thoughts, theories, and questions.

“Hey Zecora,” Fluttershy suddenly pipes in, brows slightly furrowed together. “You don’t think—”

“_Hey! You two!”_

Fluttershy and Zecora perk up and instinctively whip around at the loud voice calling across the span of the cafeteria, only to meet the sight of a familiar stallion running up to them in a hurry — Mr. Fletching, with glasses askew and blue mane a mess.

Zecora is the first to rise to attentiveness, her concerned features casting attention to the seemingly frazzled stallion. He approaches them practically out of breath, eyes only sparing the cleaning mare’s a second’s worth of a glance before his gaze immediately darts back behind him in what seemed like a matter of most pressing importance.

Fluttershy, although quiet from where she sits, is keenly aware of this and swallows fearfully.

“I need both of you to come with me right now.” Fletching demands, waving a hoof at the both of them in a gesture for them to follow immediately.

“Now?” Zecora presses in confusion. “Sir, no disrespect, but it’s the middle of our lunch — we’ve barely ate! This could not possibly wait?”

“No, It’s urgent. There’s nopony else available in the sector. Just come with me— Now, please.” Fletching insists with hardly a tinge of tolerance in his tone, clearly not willing to put up with any more than he already had on his plate.

Without question, Zecora lamentably abandons her cafeteria lunch and urges Fluttershy to rise from her seat with a hasty wave of her hoof, a look of indignation portrayed across Zecora’s demeanor. Though Fluttershy knows it isn't directed at her, she still rises from her seat quietly and assumes her usual spot at her friend's side in compliance, not wanting to put up any more of a hassle for either one of them.

“Come. The sooner we go, the quicker we’ll be done.” Zecora presses unenthusiastically, already making her way out of the cafeteria in haste.

By then, Fletching is already halfway down the hall before they have to sprint to catch up with him.

_____

On the periphery of the vault's entrance, the stench of blood is unmistakable.

Fluttershy is keen to keep her eyes down-turned elsewhere, avoiding the lurid sight of Strickler’s freshly smeared blood trail on the floor. Even the smell of it was fetid — the hallway air heavy with the stench of a strange conglomerate of blood and mysterious fluids. Even Zecora was no less unaffected — seen scrunching her nose up in revulsion. Despite neither of them saying a word, they were both undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

Fletching wastes no time in handling the whole ordeal, extremely careful to avoid the mess on the ground by standing on the tips of his hooves as he hastily reopens the vault door with a firm swipe of his key card. When the vault door pulls apart for reentry, the blood trail could be visibly seen continuing into the center of the room.

Fluttershy winces at the sheer amount of it, going slightly weak at the knees in dread of the task to render it spotless. While she’s cleaned her fair share of questionable messes since working here — including that of some rather _obscure_ fluids — never has she ever seen anything quite like this.

“You two have twenty minute to clean this up. I want it pristine. _Spotless._” Fletching says demandingly, and as he glances down at the sheer mess of blood, even his face wrenches up in utter disgust.

“Jeez.” He idly mutters under his breath as he turns away, pulling a handkerchief from his lab coat pocket to press against his nose to staunch the smell. “When I come back, I want all of this gone.” Fletching wildly gestures his hoof across the expanse of the floor, and on his way out, yells over his shoulder without sparing a parting glance at all. _“Twenty minutes!”_

“Yes, sir.” Zecora says in response, though it earns nothing but a dismissive wave by Fletching in return. He disappears around the corner in seconds without another word.

Left to tend to the mess, Zecora wordlessly pushes in the cleaning caddy with a frazzled exhale, fetching the cleaning buckets from the bottom compartment to fill with clean water. But when she turns to address Fluttershy’s task, she stills.

Fluttershy is frozen in place, standing statuesque still at the brink of the massive vessel in the room, watching the bioluminescent fluid swirl and flow, small bubbles rising to the top from the oxygen exchange mingling with a strange effervesce of magic. Even the vessel itself seems to buzz with energy, giving off a consistent background hum from the generators they're all connected to.

But that wasn’t really what her attention was drawn to.

Fluttershy finds herself gazing into the wide open tank built into the ground, exposed and accessible to where she could _touch_ the mysterious fluids. Tempting her, _beckoning._

“Fluttershy?”

Caught up in her daze, Fluttershy doesn't respond or acknowledge the voice behind her at all.

Something draws her near — something indecipherably enticing, a strong invitation luring her in. She tries to wade through the deluge of muddled whispers fading in and out of her subconscious, trying to grab onto the vestige of the call that just [i]feels[/i] familiar. But just as she would come close to taking hold, it would slip out from under her grasp.

Such a familiar call, she swears she’s heard it before...

The waters were too murky for her to see very far into, and Fluttershy is left feeling more addled and confused now more than ever when eventually, her reverie is severed the moment she feels a hoof on her shoulder pull her back to attention with a start.

”—_Fluttershy!_ Are you alright?”

Turning to Zecora in haste, Fluttershy blinks, shaking off the odd feeling wracking her nerves.

“Y—Yes. Sorry.” She says, habitually messing with her hair to push away at the stray strands occluding her vision. “Um, I was just—” She fumbles over her words, gesturing a hoof at the vessel instead.

“Is that all? You appeared to be in somewhat of a fright.” Zecora’s tone is questioning, doubtful. Fluttershy stands by her answer and merely shakes her head, trying to look anywhere else but the blood smear in the middle of the room.

“No, I’m— I’m fine.” Fluttershy says quietly, averting her gaze elsewhere to avoid confrontation.

“In that case, come help me fill these buckets with water, will you? We have much to do.”

Fluttershy nods in complaisance as she makes her way towards the built-in water line near the entrance, grabbing the bucket handle in between her teeth and dropping it down right underneath the spigot. Twisting the faucet and letting it fill with water, she idly watches the water swirl and slosh around inside, her mind still reeling with the all-encompassing feeling of discomfiture.

The confounding haze lingering inside her head leaves her struggling to grasp onto her own string of thoughts as she absently gazes into the bucket of water, the buzz of phantom whispers in her head making it hard to focus on anything else but them. It felt intrusive — as if a figment of an eidolon was trying to breach the expanse of her subconscious. It made her temples ache with a dull pain, unable to shake the unsettling feeling from her cognizance.

She doesn’t realize the water begins to overflow until it starts splashing at the ground beneath her hooves.

Startled back to reality, Fluttershy hastily twists the spigot shut and shakes off the excess water from her hooves, glancing over at Zecora to make sure she hadn’t seen the small mishap. Gone unseen — the other occupied with the task of pulling over her own caddy of supplies to the other side of the room — Fluttershy lifts the bucket by the handle between her teeth, grunting by the weight of it as she strides over to the center of the room and dumps it over the smeared mess of blood.

It washes away immediately, swirling and dissipating into the grid drains channeling into the floors. The miasma of a metallic sting and decrepit dampness immerses the room after the wash, basking the vault in a strange camphoraceous musk that left Fluttershy wrinkling her nose up in distaste.

But then something catches in the corner of her periphery, glistening from the water.

Setting the bucket down, Fluttershy carefully traverses across the damp floor to inspect the obscure object. She furrows her brows at the familiar apparatus strewn carelessly on the floor near the ground tank, recognizing it as the cattle prod she saw Strickler with earlier in the bathroom.

Phased with apprehension, though more in disgust at the unidentified black tar-like fluid staining the tip of the prods, Fluttershy handles the cattle prod and tosses it across the floor to the other side of the room in repulsion, wiping her hoof off on her apron and refusing to give it another glance after that.

Retrieving the discarded bucket, Fluttershy makes her way back to the waterline in silence when she suddenly hears a shrill yelp come from Zecora, followed by a clatter of the broomstick against the tile floor.

Fluttershy immediately drops the bucket from her grip and whips around to Zecora, her eyes wide with fright and concern.

“What? What is it? Are you alright?” The words frantically rush out of Fluttershy, already making her way over. But Zecora suddenly outstretches her arm at her, urging her to stop in her tracks.

“Don’t come near! _Mungu wangu._” Zecora raises her voice — even resorts to her mother tongue out of sheer horror, her eyes shifting between the spot on the floor and Fluttershy’s disconcerted gaze. “Fetch me a container, a bag, anything will do.”

Fluttershy, albeit confused, turns to the caddy near the front entrance to rummage around for something to use as a receptacle. Eventually, she finds her old brown lunch bag still tucked away inside one of the drawers and decides it'll do, rushing over to Zecora as close as she could get with the bag between her teeth. But when she draws near enough, she’s able to see what Zecora was so aghast by. Her eyes widen right away and she nearly runs off right then and there.

The severed piece of Strickler’s horn.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Fluttershy hands the bag over to Zecora and turns away at the sight, repulsed as she feels the weight of it hit the bottom of the bag. Right away, she shoves it to Zecora, wanting nothing to do with it. Zecora takes it without much disgust, though there is a tinge of shock and urgency in her mannerisms as she discards it on top of the cleaning cart and approaches the threshold of the vault door.

“I’m going to go find Mr. Fletching. You stay here. Keep an eye out for anything else you might discover, you hear?” Zecora orders, already swiping her key card through the door mechanism and waiting for it to open back up.

Fluttershy vehemently nods her head in understanding, slightly backing away from the door in consternation as she watches Zecora flee around the hall, and Fluttershy is left on her own, forced to endure the silence that fell over the room once the vault closes shut on its own accord.

Taking a breath, she wanders over to the cleaning cart to retrieve the mop, standing on her hind legs to start washing away at the leftover traces of fluids still stuck in between the tiles of the floor. Anything to busy her mind, even with a menial task of labor. But half ways through the task, something strange begins to nudge at the vestige of her subconscious again. That exact odd feeling from earlier, but returned tenfold.

Leaning her weight on the mop, she tightens her grip on the wooden handle, brows furrowing as her eyes bears the weight of undulating fear and dread. Swallowing tensely, Fluttershy lets out a shaky breath, struggling to collect herself. The murmur of whispers and voices in her mind returns, making her wince and shake her head in an instinctive reaction, as if that would make it go away. But the worst part of it all was that she couldn’t even make out what the whispers were saying to her. It sounded like gibberish, a twist of tongues she’s never heard in her lifetime before.

But just as fast as it had come, it vanishes.

The silence succeeding it becomes unbearable. Overwhelmed with a sense of trepidation, Fluttershy whimpers, and on a considerably more clean area of the ground, sits herself down to try to ease her shaken nerves. Resting the mop flat on the floor in front of her, she presses her hooves to her face and utters into them, muffled and hardly audible to anyone else but herself.

_“What is happening to me?”_

Whether or not there even was an explanation to any of it, was a question not easily solved.

Something interrupts her reverie, however — a sound that doesn't come from her own subconscious. It softly vocalizes and echoes lowly throughout the room, catching her attention. It urges her to lift her head from her hooves, her eyes curiously seeking out the source of the sound.

That’s when she sees something shift in the shadows of the glass vessel in Tank #2.

Something in her snaps — a fire of curiosity taking over her movements as she rises back to stand in sudden awareness. She hears a guttural groan, muffled through thick fluids though audible enough to hear it for what it was. It sounded like a howl of grief or pain, indiscernible between the two. She couldn’t decipher it in certainty, but she’s keenly aware of the fact that now, she was no longer the only presence in the room.

Fluttershy approaches the vessel in caution to avoid the slew of black cables scattered about the floor, heart racing in her chest. There’s a shadow that shifts in the distance of the bioluminescent fluid, lingering far away as if it were hesitant — afraid of her presence.

Pressing a gentle hoof against the glass, Fluttershy gently taps the cold exterior of the vessel, trying to draw its attention and lure it out from the shadows and into the dim overhead light. Regarding the presence as she would an injured animal in fear, she ever slightly tilts her head to the side, the wispy stray pink strands of her mane drifting across her face as she modulates a ream of gentle hushes in assurance, even kneeling down lower to the ground to regard herself as harmless. Less intimidating.

That’s when it begins to slowly emerge from the shadows.

The light shines and reflects against the creature’s serpentine body — the most prominent feature that caught her eye. It’s tail flickers and undulates within the vessel’s fluid, a pair of mismatched wings taut in a display of alarm, clearly on guard at the sight of her. It was difficult to see any sharp details of the creature — only able to see its outline in the dim light, but the one thing that stood distinct was the sheer _height_ of the creature.

From Fluttershy’s place on the floor, it loomed over her from the opposite side of the glass. Tall, imposing, trying in might to be the superior figure. She noticed in perplexity that the creature’s hands were mismatched from where they pressed against the tank’s glass barrier — one a distinct proportion of a lion’s paw. The other, what seemed to be the same anatomy of an eagle’s claw. Both chained tightly by the wrists and bound to some unseen fastener inside the tank. And as her gaze draws upwards, the shadow of two misshapen horns at the top of the creature’s head sends an immediate chill down her spine.

Though as her gaze strives to analyze every aspect of the mysterious creature’s physique, her gaze falls on an open laceration dealt to the center of its midsection, a dark fluid she assumes to be blood seeping out from the wound and suffusing with the waters it was submerged in.

Fluttershy gasps at the sight, her mouth parting in wordless shock.

The ultimate question of _“who did this to you?”_ stung deep in her mind, though remained unspoken when the series of events throughout the day began to connect and make sense.

The cattle prod she saw Strickler with this morning in the bathroom. His wound. The severed horn. The traces of blood she saw on the end of the apparatus...

“...He did this to you, didn’t he?” Fluttershy whispers in realization, looking up from the creature’s wound to try to seek out its face, but she couldn’t make out much of it in the dim light.

She presses her hoof more firmly against the glass, the overwhelming instinct to help triggering a ripple of remorse for having to leave the creature behind in a state like this, injured and utterly helpless.

It made something inside her snap.

The creature even seems to lose some of its grandiose display of superiority, trying weakly to curl in on itself in weakness and exhaustion as it were struggling to breathe correctly. But the thing that baffles her the most is that it doesn’t move away from the tank — it comes _closer_, pressing its paw against the glass in precise alignment with hers.

It was a display of _trust._

Though just as she’s about to open her mouth to speak to it, the vault door gives a noisy grind as it opens from the other side, startling her and the creature from their musings. Snatching her hoof away from the tank, Fluttershy whips around and rises to stand in haste, her attention redirecting to the sight of Zecora and Fletching emerging through the entryway.

“Where is it?” Fletching demands, barely even giving Fluttershy the chance to take a breath.

Being the closest to the caddy, Fluttershy immediately fetches the bag from the cleaning cart and passes it over to Fletching, watching him hold it by the bottom to peer inside from the opening. He immediately furrows his brows and glances at Fluttershy.

“Really? An old lunch bag, that’s all you had?”

Fluttershy nods timorously, averting her gaze away from the unnerving sight of his. He spares a disgruntled sigh and closes the bag up.

“Finish cleaning this mess up. You don’t speak a word of this to anyone. _Both_ of you. Understand?”

Fluttershy and Zecora both furiously shake their head in understanding, too shocked to even spare verbal acknowledgement.

“Good.” Fletching utters, rolling up the bag small enough to shove it into the pocket of his stained lab coat. “Back to work.” He says, leaving the two alone in the vault a final time.

With an exasperated sigh from Zecora, she leans against the cleaning cart and glances to Fluttershy. Although neither one of them spoke a word out of sheer fear, they exchange looks of understanding with one another, vowing to keep this an unspoken secret between the two of them.

And once Zecora catches her breath well enough to resume her duties with refilling the water bucket to finish scrubbing the grounds, the silence in the room hangs thick and heavy.

Fluttershy glances back at the vessel to see if the creature had lingered, but it had long since disappeared back into the murky waters. And for some reason, it left her feeling inexplicably empty.

_____

“_My God._ Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Fluttershy cries, pacing back and forth within the small space of Miles’s living room in a frenzy. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s something seriously wrong going on in that place, Miles. There’s something they’re hiding.”

“Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do, though?” Miles counters, though there was a look of uncertainty across his features as he glances over his shoulder to address Fluttershy. “They hide the unknown — such as that thing — to keep us safe. To keep Equestria safe.”

“Don’t call it that.” Fluttershy chastises, her tone dropping to a warning level. “It’s not a _thing_. It’s a living creature, just as alive as you or me.” Fluttershy tersely furrows her brows at him in an embittered manner.

“Right, I apologize.” Miles corrects himself, slightly shaking his head. “But I’m not wrong about the other thing, am I?”

Fluttershy sighs. 

“No, you’re right, but—” She pauses as she plops down on the couch, her gaze distant with the memory still settling fresh in her mind. “I don’t know. The way it _looked_ at me, Miles. It was hurt.” Her voice slightly wavers, and she has to take a breath to ease her emotions starting to crack at the surface.

“Why would anyone hurt a creature?”

Miles sets his paintbrush down on the drafting table and adjusts his glasses, rising from his chair to fully face Fluttershy with a grim look upon his face.

“My dear, there are some things that just can’t be explained.” Miles says as he plops down next to Fluttershy on the couch, giving her a gentle tap underneath her chin to gauge her attention. “And I think you’re looking at this from the wrong perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy tilts her head at him, and Miles sighs.

“We don’t know what that creature has done. It could be there for a reason. Look what you said it did to Strickler, for pony’s sake. Any creature that’s capable of doing that is extremely dangerous and _should_ be contained.”

A breath hitches in her throat as she rises to speak, but the words falter on her tongue. Perhaps Miles was actually right in that regard — she was essentially clueless about the creature’s origin and what led up to the events of its capture and transfer to the facility. It was dangerous, no doubt. But still… something about all of this felt off, rubbing her the wrong way. There was still that nagging voice in the back of her mind, intent on defending her reasoning for wanting to uncover the truth as a martyr in this scenario. That the creature she saw looming over her in T4 wasn’t a monster, but accidentally misconstrued as one.

Fluttershy exhales, sitting upright to attention.

“Maybe you’re right.” She says, her tone conscientious. “Maybe the creature _is_ dangerous, but I’m telling you, there is still something horrible going on right under our noses. I just can’t figure out what exactly it is or what _any_ of it is for.” Her expression falls with worry, and Miles spares a delicate pat to her shoulder, trying to usher her back to reality.

Fluttershy in turn, leans over to lightly rest her head on his shoulder, discernibly exhausted.

“Well, until you do, I think you should get some rest.” Miles says gently. “You still owe me a game of chess from the other night. Who else but me will defend my honor?” He teases playfully, clearly trying to lighten the mood. And somehow, It seems to work like a charm.

Fluttershy lets out a small huff before it turns into a faint chuckle, as she playfully throws a nudge at his side, and Miles grins.

“There’s that smile.” Miles lightheartedly teases, and the acknowledgement only makes her smile wider until it completely breaks her from the somber trance she was stuck slumped in.

“Tell you what. Make some dinner, enjoy a bath, spend time with your animals. Try not to stress yourself out too much over this, alright?” Miles says, effortlessly stepping into his role of paternal authority. Fluttershy merely gives a small nod against Miles’s shoulder, never one to turn down his invaluable advice.

“Just—“ Miles intervenes, but sighs when Fluttershy meets his own gaze, completely oblivious to his level of unease at the state of her. “Take care of yourself. I hate seeing you like this.”

"Oh I know, I’m sorry I make you worry so much.” Fluttershy expresses her remorse with an apologetic glint in her gaze, and Miles couldn’t help but gently pat her cheek at the absolute puppy-dog expression she had cast his way.

“Well, you are notoriously good at making me worry.” Miles chuckles, and this compels a scoff to rise from her, however, led by a small bout of stifled laughter behind her hoof.

“Someone’s gotta worry about you, otherwise who else will?”

Fluttershy hums in thought. “Believe me, I can think of a few.”

“Well then, that’s _six_ you have to make sure don’t worry our heads off over you.” Miles gives the mare at his side a gentle nudge before rising from the couch, making his way over to his drafting board and manifesting his magic to meticulously roll up the poster artwork and slide it into a protective sheath.

“I have to go drop this off to a client before the office closes. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, I just ask that you make sure my little troublemaker of a cat doesn’t get into the paints again. You know the little devil. You’re always so good with him, I don’t know how you do it. I’m actually a little envious.” Miles jokes through the crack of a smile as he wraps his favorite red scarf around his neck, already making his way towards the front door.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.” Fluttershy assures, giving him an innocent closed-lipped smile.

“Thank you, dear. As always, I bid you adieu!” Miles bows his head with a magically-charged tip of his hat.

Fluttershy smiles widely, leaning her head back against the couch to glance back at him as he waves goodbye, steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him with a soft _‘click’_.

Left to bask in the presence of his empty apartment, Fluttershy sighs as she turns her gaze up to the ceiling, letting the ambient melody of Miles’s record player spill through the quietude of the living room as his elder cat hops up on the couch with her, curling atop her lap with the intent to nap. It raises a soft smile to her face, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ear as he settles into a comfortable position with her.

But even with the complacent euphony of sonatas and the illusion of ease tricking her mind into a false sense of security, Fluttershy couldn’t impede the urge to linger on the memory of the creature, the recollection of it all stuck at the forefront of her mind. 

But soon, as her eyelids flutter close and the sound of a soft melody fades into aught, all that’s left in the shadow of her subconscious is the familiar buzz of a whisper crawling about in her mind, only finally falling asunder when she slips into an exhausted slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> wonderful [fanart ](https://twitter.com/cosmicrewinds/status/1172619601647230979) by Ariel  
another amazing [fanart ](https://twitter.com/SadistJolt/status/1172835204559278081) by SaJo  

> 
> [follow on twitter for future updates](https://twitter.com/_Attropa)  



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